


botany, among other things

by fnowae



Category: Fall Out Boy
Genre: Crack Fic, M/M, based on a tumblr prompt, honestly. there’s no tags for what this is, ok maybe there’s those
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-26
Updated: 2018-03-26
Packaged: 2019-04-08 11:59:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,557
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14104914
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fnowae/pseuds/fnowae
Summary: For someone who is a fucking plant, he really knows nothing about plants.





	botany, among other things

**Author's Note:**

> based on this prompt from @otpprompting on tumblr (which is my blog y’all should check it out thanks!):
> 
> _Strange things begin happening to Person A. Their skin suddenly turns green and eating food makes them sick, but they drink more water than usual and get an urge to spend more time in the sun. A few days later, their hair is replaced with colorful petals, and A freaks out, realizing they’ve become a plant. Person B is a cute florist who agrees to help A figure out what kind of plant they are and find a cure for their “condition.”_
> 
> Oh boy. Here it goes
> 
> Enjoy!

The day Joe realizes something is wrong with him is a Thursday. He only knows that because he’d just gotten home from a Thursday night football party - everything else about the day is just a blur. Joe doesn’t even like football, but his friends do, so he’d gone. He isn’t even sure who won the game. Or who was playing. Or where they were. Okay, so maybe Joe’s a little drunk. Mildly. 

Joe stumbles into the bathroom, falls to the ground, and throws up into the toilet. This, he can credit to being wasted. What he can’t blame on being drunk is that while falling, his hand had scraped against the corner of the sink, and when he holds it out to make sure it isn’t hurt bad, the bloods that wells up from the cut is stark white. 

“Hm,” he says to his empty bathroom. “It’s not supposed to do that, is it?”

No one responds. Joe leans down to throw up again. 

He wakes up the next morning expecting to find the memory of pure white blood was just an alcohol-induced hallucination, but the small cut on his hand is still lined with now-dried white fluid. Joe gets up, grabs a bandaid, and ignores it. 

He makes himself scrambled eggs for breakfast and pours himself a glass of water. He finishes half the eggs before deciding he isn’t hungry - not that it matters, because the eggs are in the toilet by noon. Joe is a little worried to find he doesn’t want to eat lunch after that, but he downs two more glasses of water anyway. The scariest part is that he doesn’t even feel hungry. 

He is still a little thirsty, actually. He drinks one more glass of water. 

Joe spends the afternoon on his apartment’s balcony, reading a romance novel he only has because it’s the only book in his apartment he could find that he hasn’t read yet. It’s badly written and the plot is incoherent, but Joe still appreciates the distraction. When he finishes the piece of shit book and steps inside, he realizes he’s thirsty again. 

Two more glasses of water later - Joe can see it now, his bills are going to skyrocket - Joe is checking his phone. He has a couple voicemails. A couple are telemarketers (ignored) and one is his mom (he’ll call back later, maybe), but the last voicemail is a number he doesn’t recognize, and when it starts, it isn’t another mindless telemarketing call, so Joe keeps listening. 

“Hi, uh...Joe, right? This is Patrick - you don’t know me, but you left your wallet in my shop today and you probably want to come get that? I assume. Uh, it’s Plants ‘N’ Shit - uh, the last word is censored, I’m not supposed to say it, sorry - on 5th Ave? If you want to drop by, that would be great. Thanks!”

Joe listens to it again as he drinks another glass of water, because he likes the guy’s voice. 

The next morning marks twenty-four hours since Joe has eaten. He isn’t even close to hungry. His breakfast is another couple glasses of water. Maybe he should be getting worried. 

Joe has a weird urge to go for a walk - so he does, heading to the park near his apartment and spending two hours there, which is longer than he thinks he’s ever been outside before, ever. But he feels like the walk woke him up, so that has to be a good thing, right?

On the way home, Joe runs straight into one of his friends - Pete, who Joe met when they used to work together. They don’t anymore, but Pete’s still one of Joe’s closest friends. 

“Hey!” Joe greets him with a grin. 

Pete smiles back. “Hey, what’s up? Haven’t seen you in a while.”

“Not much,” Joe replies.

Pete’s smile drops, replaced by a look of concern. “Hey, are you sick? You’re looking a little green there, man.”

“No, actually, I feel great,” Joe says, and he supposes that’s pretty good for a guy who hasn’t consumed anything but water for over a day now and has started bleeding white. “Weird lighting, maybe? A storm’s coming in.”

He’s not wrong - thunderclouds have just crossed over the sun, and there’s a deep rumble in the distance. Joe knows he should hurry home before it rains. 

“Huh, maybe.” Pete shrugs. “Anyways, nice seeing you!”

“Same to you,” Joe says, then continues on his way. 

He stops by Plants ‘N’ Shit (which is, in fact, censored to Plants ‘N’ Sh*t on the sign out front), because it’s on his way home. He pushes open the door and finds himself in a huge room, full of shelves lined with all sorts of plants and flowers, some spilling over onto the floor. There’s a counter at the back with a single guy behind it, and as Joe nears, he sees that the guy’s name tag, pinned to a pale pink apron, reads “Patrick”. It seems Joe’s in luck. 

“Hi, can I help you?” Patrick asks as Joe nears.

“Yeah, uh, I’m Joe, I think you called me about my wallet yesterday?” Joe responds.

Patrick breaks into a grin, nodding. “Yeah, it’s in the back. Let me get it!” 

He disappears for a couple seconds, then reappears, holding out Joe’s small black wallet. “There!” he says. “Glad I got it back to you.”

“Thank you,” Joe says, beaming as he tucks the wallet into the pocket of his coat. 

“No problem,” Patrick answers. “Feel free to stop by anytime!”

Joe nods thankfully and turns to leave. He might really take Patrick up on that offer - the guy’s cute, and something about the flower shop is really calming and comfortable to him. But for now, he has to get home. He’s thirsty again. No surprise there. 

When Joe gets home, he’s soaked from the rain, and not feeling so awesome anymore. He feels kind of dizzy, actually, and for the first time he really thinks about all the shit that’s been happening and starts to wonder if something’s wrong with him. Before he thinks on it any longer, he downs another two glasses of water - which seems to have become his standard meal - and goes to use the bathroom. 

When he gets to the sink to wash his hands and locks eyes with his reflection, he almost screams. 

Joe hadn’t thought much of Pete’s earlier comment about how he was “looking green”, but fuck, the guy wasn’t kidding. 

Joe’s skin is visibly green-tinged - and not in a sick way, in a literally-pale-green-instead-of-its-normal-color way. Joe stares for another couple seconds, trying and failing to process what he’s looking at. He isn’t sure how to react to this - then again, this isn’t the first weird thing to happen to him this week. However, it’s definitely the one that really hits him hard. 

Joe decides he’s going to see a doctor tomorrow. Something is _really_ fucking wrong here. 

The next day, however, he reconsiders. 

Joe is standing in front of the bathroom mirror again, eyes peeled wide in some mix of confusion and terror, not sure what to do now. 

Weird blood, weird skin, weird eating habits, and all that shit had all seemed like doctor-worthy things. But the cluster of small, periwinkle flowers growing right out of Joe’s head where his hair is definitely supposed to be is on another level entirely. 

Joe can’t shake the odd feeling that he should know what’s happening now - at least, he can’t shake it until he starts pouring his water, and the shock sets in. 

Joe puts everything together - green skin, not eating, consuming an odd amount of water, going outside more - and realizes he doesn’t know who you’re supposed to go to in the case that you’re, maybe, probably, a fucking plant. 

Joe takes his water to the couch and sits down, mostly frozen in shock as he sips at it. He doesn’t know what to do, now that he knows what’s going on - is this normal? Does this happen to people? Probably not. And in that case, going to a doctor is a _bad_ idea. Joe doesn’t want to become a lab experiment. He’s read books. He knows what happens to people who have weird things happen to them. And it’s that.

Joe doesn’t really want to get off the couch, but he’s still thirsty and he’s feeling a little sick again. After another glass of water, he concludes that the sickness probably means he needs sunlight, but he doesn’t want to risk going outside looking like he does now. So rather than take that risk, he opens his blinds all the way and just lays in the pool of sunlight that lands on the couch until he falls asleep. 

The next morning, Joe wakes up and begins his new routine. Water. Sunlight. Rinse and repeat. 

But by the end of the afternoon, Joe is starting to panic. A new worry has hit him - the fact that he doesn’t know _shit_ about plants. He supposes he can keep up the water and sunlight shit well enough, and that makes sense and all, but what if he gets actually sick? There are plant diseases, right? He doesn’t know how to fix that, or how to even know if he’s got some disease, and aren’t plant-eating beetles a thing? Shouldn’t he be worried about that? 

Joe is thoroughly panicked by sunset, because for someone who is a fucking plant, he really knows nothing about plants, but then he realizes - he knows someone who does. 

Going out when the sun is down is probably a bad idea. Going out with no sun and wrapped in too many layers of clothing is probably worse. But Joe is too anxious to wait, and besides, he can’t go out with his green skin and flowers and expect people to not ask questions - questions that Joe has no answers to. The hat and sunglasses and scarf and coat and tall boots are all completely necessary. 

Joe is feeling a little weak by the time he gets back to Plants ‘N’ Shit - he refuses to censor the name - but he figures he’ll be fine. He just has to get in, ask a couple minor questions, and get out. That’s all. 

Luckily, Patrick is still the one at the counter, and though he’s closing up, the shop is still, just barely, open. Joe strolls in, trying to look casual. 

Patrick clearly doesn’t recognize him under all the layers, which Joe expected, so he says, “Hey, it’s me again.”

“Oh, hey Joe!” Patrick says, breaking into a grin when he realizes who Joe is. “A little cold there?”

“I’m doing wonderfully, thanks,” Joe responds, adding a strained laugh in an attempt to act like nothing weird is happening. 

“What brings you back? We’re almost closed,” Patrick asks, gesturing to the cash register he’s just now locking as proof. 

“I just had some couple questions. Uh, about plants,” Joe responds as casually as he can, hoping he comes off more like a guy who maybe has a couple plants in his house like a normal person than a guy who is literally just a plant. 

“Well, I am a florist,” Patrick responds, chuckling a little. “What’s up?”

“Uh,” Joe begins, suddenly aware he isn’t quite sure what he came here to ask. He’s also starting to feel lightheaded. Maybe this was a bad idea. Finally, he forces out, “Uh, plant-eating beetles exist...right? Should I...worry about that?”

“Don’t think so at the moment,” Patrick responds immediately, offering a helpful smile as he continues, “It’s nearly winter, and that’s more of a summer thing.” He cocks his head to the side inquisitively and asks, “What plant exactly are we talking here? Most aren’t in season around now.”

Joe winces. “I don’t know what I...have.” The “have” at the end is tacked on weakly in place of the much more incriminating “am”.

“Is it a flower? Is it in bloom right now?” Patrick rattles off, then pauses and says, “Sorry, you’re the one who’s supposed to be asking questions. I’m just curious now.”

“It’s okay.” Joe shakes his head. “Uh, yes, a flower. And in bloom.” What he doesn’t say is that he doesn’t think it’s supposed to be - he doesn’t know what it’s called, but he recognizes his flowers. He’s seen them at the park - and they’re dead now. He doesn’t think he obeys the laws of seasons, which isn’t even the weirdest thing about this situation. Not in the least. 

“Hm, okay, that’s neat,” Patrick says with a smile. “Sorry, I’m getting way too excited about this, I just love plants a lot, and no one ever actually asks me about them, you know?”

Joe nods weakly. Patrick keeps talking, but Joe has suddenly lost the ability to concentrate on what he’s saying. God, this _was_ a bad idea - Joe should be home and in bed right now. It’s becoming very clear that when the sun isn’t out, he has no way to get energy at all. Which means he’s probably about to run out entirely. 

“I’m sorry, I - fuck-“ Joe interrupts, trying to blink away the sudden cloudiness in his vision. “Sorry, I think I have to go, it’s not you, I-“ 

He doesn’t get to finish the sentence before everything goes black. 

He wakes up again after an indeterminate amount of time, in a room he doesn’t recognize. He’s laid out on a brown leather couch, in a cluttered living room with nothing else other than a lamp with a torn shade and a flat screen TV. His eyes flick upwards and he’s momentarily blinded, but when his vision adjusts he realizes he’s looking at a skylight. Well, that’s damn convenient. 

Something falls over in another room, and Joe hears someone yell, “Shit!” That’s when it occurs to him that he is in an unfamiliar house with an unfamiliar person. His hand immediately flies to his head, and he sits straight up in fear when he realizes his flowers are uncovered and blatantly on display. In fact, all his layers of protection are gone - every little weird thing about him is right out in the open. 

And he’s still in a stranger’s house. 

Said stranger wanders into the room right this second, spots Joe, and exclaims, “Oh, shit, you’re up!”

Joe freezes. This isn’t a stranger at all, but it might be worse. 

Patrick rushes across the room, kicking a pizza box and a torn suit jacket out of the way as he goes. “Sorry this place is a mess, fuck, I never clean!” he says as he reaches the couch. “Are you okay? Was the skylight a good idea? Did I make a good assumption on that one? I don’t even know-“

“What the fuck,” Joe interrupts flatly, staring wide-eyed at Patrick, who promptly shuts up. “What am I doing here?”

“I took you here,” Patrick answers immediately. “You passed out on my floor and I thought it was heat exhaustion, so I took your coat and shit off, and...” He gestures to Joe, shrugging. “Yeah. I took a wild guess at what was going on, and remembered I had a skylight...and...I don’t know. Seriously, though, is the skylight helpful? Or am I totally misinterpreting?”

Joe’s mouth hangs open for a moment, then he snaps it shut and responds faintly, “Yeah, uh...the skylight is great. Thank you.”

Patrick nods firmly. He’s silent for a moment, then asks, “Do you, uh...need anything else?”

Joe is still in shock, and after a second of simply staring at Patrick, he says, “Water would be nice.”

“Oh!” Patrick exclaims. “I should have thought of that, one second!”

Patrick disappears into another room again, then returns with a glass of water, Joe accepts it thankfully, swallowing it down as quickly as he can manage. 

When he finishes, he sets the empty glass on the table and eyes Patrick warily. It’s just now setting in that Patrick _knows_ , and he’s...not freaking out?

“Why are you doing this?” he asks, trying and failing to get a read on Patrick’s face. “You...I passed out in your store, you found out I was a fucking _plant_ -“

“Hydrangea.” 

“Excuse me?” Joe raises an eyebrow, confused. 

Patrick goes a little red and mutters, “Sorry, I’m being a plant nerd again. You’re a hydrangea, is what I was saying. Never mind. Go on.”

“Oh,” Joe says, silent for a thoughtful moment, then shakes it off and continues, “My point still stands. I passed out in your store, you found out I was a...a hydrangea, I guess, and your response to the fucking unconscious plant dude...hydrangea dude, whatever...was to _take me home_?”

“Where was I supposed to take you?” Patrick counters. “A doctor? A science lab? Something about how completely covered up you were gave me the feeling you were trying to avoid that. I didn’t know where you lived, or I would’ve taken you there. So...I took you home. Because, uh...the skylight.”

Somehow, this is the most logical thing Joe’s heard all week. He relaxes, looking sheepishly down at the ground. “Fuck, you’re right. Thanks for...not turning me in, I guess.”

“No problem,” Patrick says. After a brief silence, he continues, “Hey, where _do_ you live? I can take you home now, if you’d like.”

Joe cracks a grateful smile. “Oh, sure, I’m actually not far from your shop. I walked there.”

“Cool, then I’ll drop you on the way to work?” Patrick offers. Joe nods gratefully. 

Patrick’s calm and collected approach to the situation drops the second they’re in his car, and his “plant nerd” side immediately comes through. “So,” he begins as he pulls out into the street, “do you eat anything, at all? I was wondering, because like, some plants survive on just water, but a lot get fertilizer too, and-“

“Are you trying to ask me if I’ve ever eaten fertilizer?” Joe asks, more amused than he is annoyed. “Because I’m still very worried that would kill me. So, no.” Patrick opens his mouth again, and Joe interrupts, “And no, I don’t eat, if I try I just throw it up.”

“Huh.” Patrick looks like he’s thinking, then goes right back to his rambling. “Also, did you know you’re out of season? Really, you should be dead - sorry, that sounded rude - but you aren’t, I just think that’s cool-“

Joe spends the rest of the drive listening and not listening to Patrick’s rambling, because while it’s potentially obnoxious, it’s also nice to know that he at least has someone who’s supportive of this weird shit he has going on right now. 

They pull up in front of his apartment building just as Patrick is finishing explaining that Joe _wouldn’t_ have to worry about plant-eating beetles, because “I don’t know if this is true, or just my experience, but those fuckers only go for the leaves, and you’ve got no leaves, except maybe a couple up there with your flowers, I can’t tell.”

“Thank you,” Joe says once Patrick’s finished. “For the ride, and for all the information I’ll probably forget in ten minutes.”

Patrick chuckles. “No problem. Want me to walk you to your apartment?”

Joe is on the fifth floor, and Patrick spends the whole climb up the stairs complaining. Again, Joe finds himself amused by something that, from anyone else, would piss him right the fuck off. 

Once they reach his door, Patrick is out of breath and proclaiming that if they ever do this again, they’re using the elevator, for _Joe’s_ sake, of course, they wouldn’t want him to waste the precious energy he gets from the sun. Joe laughs at this as he unlocks his door. 

“So,” he says, turning to Patrick, “do you have to go?”

Patrick nods sadly, “gotten open the shop in five. But you’re welcome to stop by later if you’d like.”

Joe nods. “I’d love to.”

Patrick nods right back. “Right. I’ll see you sometime...but until then, keep your blinds open, stay in the sun when you can, get plenty of water, you are _not_ dying on my watch-“

“Damn, Patrick,” Joe says, snorting, “are you my mom?”

“I’m your _plant_ mom,” Patrick responds, crossing his arms over his chest. “Don’t you dare fucking die for some dumb idiot reason, okay?”

Joe laughs. “Okay.”

They both fall silent, and Joe almost expects Patrick to kiss him, but Patrick pulls him into a tight hug instead, and Joe figures hey, he can wait for a kiss. For now, this is enough. 

Then Patrick pulls back, smiling, presses a paper into Joe’s hand, and says, “Call me sometime.”

Joe opens his mouth to respond, but Patrick’s already in the elevator and on his way out. Joe’s eyes flick down to the paper in his hand. It’s a bright pink sticky note that has Patrick’s name and a phone number, then underneath reads, in loose, messy writing, _your local plant guy who isn’t a plant guy_ , which is then crossed out and replaced with _your local florist_ and a tiny smiley face. 

Joe smiles softly as he immediately puts the number into his phone. 

“Patrick,” he says aloud as he finishes creating the contact, “I’ll see you again soon.”

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for making it through that shit! if you want to talk about this au with me, hmu at releaze.tumblr.com!
> 
> if you enjoyed this (somehow), comments are always appreciated! and there IS more to this universe than this single fic, so if you’d like more written (for some reason?), go ahead and tell me!
> 
> thank you!


End file.
